


Friends and Family

by SomewhereApart



Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1971105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I love you like family, you know that, right?" Calleigh has dinner with a friend. A very, very good friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends and Family

**Author's Note:**

> I'm rusty. Please bear with me. lol

"Do we really have to keep this up while we're at work?" he asks her, as they're sitting across from each other at a pier-side restaurant, a balmy fall breeze rippling the canopy above them.

"Yes, we do," Calleigh replies primly, thought she can't help the hint of a smile on her lips as she sets her wine glass down gently.

"C'mon, baby, everyone knows. We don't need to sneak around."

"The fact that everyone knows is even more reason to sneak around," she tells him. "If IAB ever finds out-"

"They won't."

"They might," she counters, "Especially since, as you've pointed out, _everyone_ knows. The more people who know we're together, the more mouths there are to blab it to the wrong person. Having people think we've put on the breaks is a good thing. It keeps us under the radar."

"But even in the locker room? The empty locker room?" he questions, reaching for the check when the waiter sets it down. Calleigh is just a second too late, and he quirks a playfully triumphant brow in her direction as he pulls out his credit card, slides it into the holder, then sets it at the edge of the table. "This one's on me, _friend_."

He keeps his hand on the envelope – it seems he's finally learned that she's not above snatching it back at the last minute and slipping her card in, too, to make it even-steven. She rolls her eyes a little and steers them back to their conversation. "Even in the locker room. Even when it's empty. You never know who might be listening."

"Yeah, well, can we at least have them listening to you sound conflicted about our imaginary falling out, and not you telling me I'm like your _family_?" Eric asks her, cringing and reaching for his beer with his free hand. He takes a deep swallow, like he's trying to wash the word out of his mouth, and Calleigh shakes her head at him.

"You _are_ like family to me, Eric," he tells him, "That part isn't a lie."

"Calleigh," he says to her, in that way he does when he's about to say something naughty. It makes her toes curl every single time, and this one is no exception. "The things we do – the things I'm thinking about doing to you right now – are not very _familial_. In fact, I'm pretty sure doing them with family is illegal in most states."

"Eric," she hisses, kicking him lightly under the table and leaning in closer. "Keep your voice down. We're in public."

His grin spreads, that eyebrow waggling at her again, and he says, "Even better."

"Okay, gutter brain," she teases, leaning back in her chair and signaling their waiter. "Let's get you home before you get us in trouble."

"What if I don't want to go home with you?" She knows he's still ribbing her; he can't keep that damnable smirk off his face. "I mean, we're just friends, people might get the wrong idea..."

She says his name, slow and sweet, before leaning and crooking at finger at him to urge him closer. And then she whispers something in his ear that's so dirty even she is blushing when she pulls back.

His mouth is open just a little, and he's got that look in his eyes that says he might just shove their empty plates off the table and take her right here in front of God and country. Calleigh swells with the satisfaction of knowing she can make him that hot for her her that quickly, and looks around for their waiter, who is distracted by another table and has yet to make his way to them. Knowing she has a very limited window to work with here if she expects to make it back to their separate cars without being dragged into a restroom, secluded doorway, or backseat for a quickie along the way, she reaches for her wallet, pulling out enough cash to cover the bill.

"Why don't I get this one, amigo?"

Eric grins, nabs his card back from the holder, and half an hour later they're sprawled in her foyer, being very, _very_ friendly.


End file.
